


I Might

by NachoDiablo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: 90 day fiance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Fake Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, Top Logan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 10:58:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15993779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachoDiablo/pseuds/NachoDiablo
Summary: Logan and Bucky are in a marriage of convenience (and avoidance).





	I Might

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Hell Yeah Bottom Bucky](https://hellyeahbottombucky.tumblr.com/) prompt, "90 Day Fiance." Thank you [roe87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roe87/pseuds/roe87) for such a fun prompt! <3

Logan stares at the tall, built man who’s standing on his front porch wearing ripped jeans, a leather jacket with one arm pinned up, and a scowl. “You’re Barnes, huh? Wilson didn’t tell me you were a dude.”

“Does it matter?” Barnes’ voice is soft, but there’s a ragged edge around his words.

Logan shrugs. “No. Just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well, Wilson told me you were an asshole, so I guess my expectations have been met.” Barnes’ tone hasn’t changed, but the corner of his mouth is upturned slightly.

“Huh,” Logan muses. “He wasn’t wrong.” He stands back and opens the door wider. “You can come in, I guess. Since we’re betrothed and all.”

“What a gentleman,” Barnes mutters under his breach as he strides through the door. Logan can’t help but check out his ass as he walks in and looks around at the plain walls and cluttered countertops.

When Barnes doesn’t say anything, Logan clears his throat. “You got any complaints, you can keep ‘em to yourself.”

Steel blue eyes gaze at him unwaveringly. “I’ve slept in worse places,” Barnes says quietly. “And I’ll be back to sleeping in worse soon enough.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Could you smoke outside?”

Logan looks up from his crossword, a cigar clenched between his teeth. Barnes is standing stiffly in the doorway with a wrinkle of discontent in his forehead.

“I could,” Logan says. “I can smoke anywhere.”

Barnes lets out a small sigh. “I meant, can you _not_ smoke in the house?”

Logan shrugs. “Suppose I could. Why do you ask?”

Barnes hunches his shoulders and squeezes his eyes shut. Thick, sooty lashes brush against his cheekbones.

They don’t talk much. Barnes leaves the house for long stretches of time. Logan doesn’t ask where he goes. What little time he spends inside the house is spent cleaning the house and sitting out on the back porch sharpening his apparently sizeable collection of knives.

Sometimes Barnes comes back earlier than usual, his face pale and his fingers trembling. He glides silently into the bathroom and locks the door for hours. Logan can hear the bath running on and off, and sometimes he hears retching and hacking coughs.

Barnes’ eyes fly open. He straightens his stance. “Will you stop smoking in the house? While I’m here?”

Logan removes his cigar from his mouth and snuffs it out in the ashtray beside him. “Yeah,” he says. “I will.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They get married at the courthouse, with the secretary and the janitor as their witnesses. When they return to the house, Logan drops his keys on the kitchen table and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Um… guess we should celebrate, or something. S’not every day a man gets married for the third time.”

“A memorable occasion,” Barnes drawls. He tilts his head towards Logan questioningly. “I could make pasta?”

“Sure,” Logan shrugs. “Think I’ve got a box of bow ties in the cabinet. No sauce though.”

Barnes presses his lips together in distaste. “I’ll run to the store.” He grabs Logan’s keys off the table and heads out the door without a backwards glance.

“Grab some whiskey, too,” Logan calls after him. He grabs a cigar and settles on the back porch. He hears Barnes come back from the store and start banging around in the house. Once his cigar is spent, he stretches and heads to the kitchen.

He’s surprised to see Barnes at the counter kneading a ball of dough. His hair is scraped back into a knot at the base of his neck, and there’s a swipe of flour across one cheek. There’s a pile of some sort of green herb at the end of the counter, alongside a hunk of cheese, a knob of garlic, a bag of nuts, a bottle of olive oil, and a handle of Maker’s Mark.

“Hmph,” Logan grunts. “Didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

Barnes shrugs as he grabs a rolling pin and flattens the dough. His one-armed movements seem fluid and practiced as the dough spreads evenly into a thin sheet. “Today I do. Tomorrow, who knows.” He nods towards the green herb. “You like pesto?”

“Probably.” Logan gets two tumblers and opens the Maker’s Mark. He pours out two shots and slides one over to Barnes. “Cheers,” he says as he raises his glass.” To… whatever it is you’re getting out of this.”

Barnes sets the rolling pin aside. “Cheers,” he agrees. “To whatever favor you’ve been able to cross off your ledger with Wilson.”

The whiskey burns Logan’s throat in the best way. He watches as Barnes tosses back his shot, pulls a hunting knife from his boot, and starts slicing the pasta into ribbons.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Logan brings the sledgehammer down onto the wedge in the log he’s intent on splitting. The wedge drives deeper and the log slowly cracks. He sets the sledgehammer aside and yanks the wedge free from the log. He picks up the axe and takes aim, but as he swings downward, a flutter of movement catches the corner of his eye, and the axe misses its mark and lodges in the chopping block.

“Fuck,” Logan mutters. “You can’t sneak up on me like that. Could’ve taken my foot off.”

“So? You’ve got two.” Barnes smirks as he walks closer. “Besides, I’ve been standing here for twenty minutes. Not my fault you weren’t paying attention.”

“Watching me, huh?” Logan asks with a grin. He doesn’t miss the way Barnes’ cheeks color slightly, though his expression remains unchanged.

“Hard to look away,” Barnes says lightly. “You look like a cockatoo with your hair sticking up like that.” He nods towards the axe in Logan’s hands. “Mind if I give it a try?”

“Be my guest.” Logan holds the handle of the axe out to Barnes, who pauses to shrug out of his flannel shirt before accepting it.

Barnes is wearing a white tank under his flannel. Logan realizes that he’s never seen Barnes’ shoulders bare. His left shoulder ends in a stump whorled with old scars, but it’s just as broad as his right. His hair is loose against his face. A few damp pieces cling to the side of his neck as he hefts the axe one-handed over his head with ease. The muscles in his right arm coil and flex with every movement.

After a measured pause, the axe comes down sharply, and the log splits cleanly into two. The barest whisper of a smile ghosts across Barnes’ face as he leans the axe against the splitting block.

“You want to put another log on? Work’ll go faster with the two of us.”

“How do you figure?” Logan asks. “We’re still splitting one log at a time.”

Barnes ignores Logan as he brushes his hair out of his eyes and squints up at the sky. The color on his face has improved since he first arrived. He’s not as pale as he was, Logan notes, though the dark circles under his eyes haven’t gone anywhere.

A sharp creak draws Logan’s attention towards the woods at the edge of the yard. He cringes as a large tree branch cracks away from one of the oaks and crashes to the ground. The sound echoes like thunder against the soft rustle of the leaves.

“Lousy branch,” he sighs. “Shoulda trimmed it last week, but…” He trails off.

Barnes is crouched on the ground, shoulders hunched, eyes squeezed shut, arm wrapped protectively over his head. His body trembles and jerks as he heaves heavy breaths in and out.

“Shit,” Logan mutters under his breath. He kneels down beside Barnes and places a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, it was just a branch-- augh!”

Barnes’ hand shoots out and wraps around Logan’s throat. His eyes are wide and red rimmed, and his healthy complexion is faded to a sick pallor.

Logan reacts instinctively. He lurches forwards and pins Barnes to the ground. Barnes’ head rolls back and forth on the grass wildly. He tries to kick, but Logan presses his weight down to keep him still.

“Calm the fuck down,” he says harshly. “It was a branch! Not whatever the fuck you’re flashing back to right now.”

Barnes growls, but slowly stops struggling. His eyes flash around before locking in on Logan’s. “Get off me,” he says through clenched teeth.

Logan shakes his head. “Not until you’ve gotten ahold of yourself.”

Barnes’ glare is murderous. He lunges upwards, and for a moment Logan is sure he’s going to get his teeth knocked out.

Instead, Barnes crashes their lips together. Logan lets out a small gasp, and Barnes captures his bottom lip between his teeth. Logan’s brain short circuits long enough for him to return the kiss as he pushes Barnes back against the dirt.

They’re kissing hungrily with clashing teeth and sloppy tongue. Barnes’ hips buck upwards against Logan’s. They’re both hard, and Logan grinds down to get more friction. Barnes’ hand winds through Logan’s hair while Logan works one of his own hands under Barnes’ hips to grab his ass roughly.

Suddenly Barnes shoves Logan away and scrambles backwards. Logan sits back on his heels. They’re both breathing heavily, eyes never leaving each others’ faces.

“Fuck.” Barnes swiftly gets to his feet and heads towards the front of the house at a pace that’s nearly a run. He doesn’t look back as he continues down the winding driveway.

Logan sits by the woodpile until long after dusk settles in.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Barnes doesn’t come home for three days. Logan runs out of whiskey on day two.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Barnes returns, he doesn’t acknowledge Logan. He heads to his bedroom and locks the door behind him. Logan doesn’t look up from his crossword, though his pencil doesn’t move for the next few hours of eerie silence.

Eventually, Logan heads to the kitchen and dumps a couple of cans of stew into a pot. He sets two bowls out on the counter. As he pokes at the stew with a wooden spoon, he notices Barnes standing in the doorway.

“I don’t need anything from you,” Barnes says in a low voice.

Logan sets the spoon down. He leans against the counter with his arms crossed. “I never thought you did.”

Barnes takes a few steps closer. “I don’t got anything left to give you.”

Logan’s arms drop to his sides. “I don’t need anything from _you,_ either.”

Barnes moves to stand in front of him. Hesitantly, he raises his hand to cup Logan’s cheek. He inches his face closer, eyes trained on Logan’s lips.

Logan cautiously leans forward enough for Barnes to make the next move. This kiss is slower, more chaste than their previous encounter. Logan rests his hands on Barnes’ waist lightly as their embrace deepens.

Barnes moves to kiss his way down Logan’s throat. Logan arches his head back and cups Barnes’ firm ass with both hands. He squeezes, and Barnes moans against his collarbone.

Logan walks them back towards the kitchen table. He hoists Barnes up to sit on the edge. They break apart long enough to strip off their shirts in between kisses. Logan lets his hands wander across the firm planes of Barnes’ chest. His thumbs brush against the peaked nipples, and Barnes’ breath hitches.

“Want you in me,” Barnes whispers. “You got any lube?”

“Ugh. In the bedroom,” Logan says. He curses himself for not keeping lube in every room of the house.

Barnes shoves his chest gently. “Be quick about it.”

Logan’s fairly certain he’s never moved so fast in his life.

When he returns to the kitchen, Barnes’ jeans are discarded on the floor. He’s fully naked, still perched on the edge of the table. His legs are spread and he’s working his hand up and down his leaking cock.

Within seconds, Logan is out of his own jeans and between Barnes’ thighs. He kisses Barnes deeply as he pops the cap on the lubs and slicks himself up.

“Go slow,” Barnes says with a hint of vulnerability. “It’s been awhile.”

Logan takes his time fingering Barnes until he’s relaxed and breathless. He savors the tight heat as he eases in carefully. Barnes’ mewls softly as Logan bottoms out and begins to move carefully.

“You don’t gotta be _that_ slow,” Barnes says with a smirk.

“I do, if you want this to last,” Logan grunts.

“Well I’m not gonna last either if you-- oh _shit,_ right there!” Barnes keens as Logan’s dick angles just right. He moves his hips in time with Logan’s thrusts, fingers digging into the meat of Logan’s shoulder.

Logan groans as he picks up his pace. It’s been awhile for him, too, and Barnes feels so perfect wrapped around him. They cling to each other as they ride out each other’s pleasure. Logan comes first, with his hips pressed against Barnes’ ass. He thrusts shallowly as he jerks Barnes’ to completion. Barnes’ eyes are wide as his come splatters across his stomach. His lips are swollen and shiny with their saliva, and the lower lip is caught between his teeth as the last stutters of orgasm leave him.

Logan slumps forward, careful not to jostle Barnes as they lie back on the table, spent.

He chuckles as the smell of burnt stew hits him. “Hope you’re not too hungry, Barnes. Stew’s probably burnt to shit by now.”

Barnes presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “It’s Bucky,” he says quietly. “Call me Bucky.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“We’re gonna need to chop more wood if we want enough to last through winter.”

Logan looks up from his pancakes. Bucky stands in front of the stove, spatula in hand as he peers out the window towards the chopping block.

Logan shovels a forkful of pancake into his mouth. “We got enough now,” he says between bites. “You’re like a damn machine. Wood rack’s nearly full.”

“The rack ain’t even half full,” Bucky huffs. He flips a pancake off the griddle and onto Logan’s plate. “That wood’ll be gone by January, and I’ll have to freeze my ass off chopping more.”

Logan stops chewing. September’s barely started. There’s a long way to go until January.

He swallows, takes a sip of orange juice and sets the glass carefully down on the table. “Guess we’ll have to wait it out and see what happens.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says with a small smile. “I guess we will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on Tumblr at [samstevebuckyhq](https://samstevebuckyhq.tumblr.com/), and a rebloggable post of this fic is [here](https://samstevebuckyhq.tumblr.com/post/178107995626/i-might-written-for-the-hellyeahbottombucky-write).


End file.
